Smells Like Puppy Love
by aRedBaroness
Summary: Sort of little red riding hood. Set in an AU version of season one. Stiles and his dad move to town around the same time as Derek who is back in town to avenge his family. Derek catches scent of Stiles in the woods and realizes it'll be hard to stay away from the teen. The Argents don't want Derek recruiting any pack members/mates - star-crossed situation ensues. m/m Slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So as mentioned above this is a kind of AU Season One. The focus is not on Scott becoming a werewolf and catching the Alpha, but instead it's about Derek coming to town to avenge his family. Him and his inner werewolf are distracted by the new Sheriff's son, Stiles and as much as they try to stay away from each other they can't. This breaks a fragile truce between the Argents and Derek as they have an agreement that they won't come after him if he doesn't recruit new pack members or mates. Poor Stiles is caught in the middle.

Somewhat inspired by this amazing Red Riding Hood/Sterek fan vid. Check it out here.

Chapter 1

It really sucked starting over in a new town. Stiles always felt like he was never ready for it. Never ready for the change. Why did his dad have to be so good at his job. Yeah, it was kind of cool to be able to stroll into a new school and be like, "Yeah my dad's the sheriff." But at the same time, Sheriff Stilinski (with Stiles' help – on the sly, of course) was entirely too competent to play small town sheriff. It was this competency that had resulted in their current predicament, every few years the higher ups in the chain of command would decide to send Sheriff Stilinski to a different "problem" small town to sort it out. Once a town, got cleaned up, all ship-shape as it were (a process that usually took a couple years) the Stilinskis would be moving towns.

Stiles had lost track of how many school's he'd attended since the death of his mother. Yeah, his mother was dead. His mother who had saddled him with the worst possible first name. (Not that Stiles ever clued people into that closely guarded piece of intel. Stiles had started doctoring his attendance record when he was about ten to remove all references to his first name. Now when he rolled into a new town and his permanent file – which he was proud to say was rather hefty – finally showed up it really did say his name was Stiles Stilinski.)

He did forgive his late mother her poor taste in names. It had taken him longer to get over forgive her the changes that came to his life as a result of her untimely passing when he was eight or so. She had been sick and once his father was out of that mourning period (the time neither Stilinski brought up, but Stiles always called it the "danger zone" in his head, when his father's drinking was more frequent), Stilinski the elder had taken a renewed interest in police work. Officer Stilinski had lost himself in his work and it hadn't been long before he'd received the honorable title of Sheriff and from that point on it was only a matter of time before they were dispatched to a new slice of small town Americana.

This time they were in Northern California, some place called Beacon Hills. It was nice. Stiles had never been a big fan of the wet and often cold rain that was the norm along the Oregon coast. They'd been in and around the smaller cities that dotted the Oregon coast for the past four years or so. It was nice to be somewhere warmer for a change. Unfortunately, it seemed that the trade off for nicer weather was that special kind of hell – it was a smaller town, a bit more red-necky, a bit further from the main highways, which meant there would be jack all for Stiles to do here.

Stiles was not looking forward to run-ins with whichever kind of bullies ruled Beacon Hills High School. He was sure to encounter them sooner or later. You see Stiles usually had a problem in that regard, granted it was self inflicted a degree, but at the same time he didn't see himself changing any time soon. Stiles was blessed with intelligence and wit sure, but with it came the handicaps of ADHD, a reckless impulsive nature and a loud, smart-ass mouth. It was a killing combo. He couldn't abide high school thugs, he attracted their attention, by sticking out loudly wherever he went and he despite his delicate frame, he was unable to back down, close his mouth and escape an ass-whupping. So he talked back and he took the blows that were dealt as a result. As much as possible, he tried to hide any evidence of such scuffles from his dad, who really didn't need the added worry and couldn't have helped anyone by stepping in.

So yeah new town. They'd arrived late on Saturday. After roughly ten years of frequent moves, they had unpacking down to a finely tuned art. It rarely took longer than a day to unbox and set up. It was true, after a number of moves, they'd also cut down on the amount of things they had to move and certainly the precise and carefully planned nature of the packing also helped speed the unpacking process, as everything was pretty meticulously labeled and organized. It was much easier to set up a kitchen for instance if you didn't lose anything and half to spend half the afternoon hunting through every single box desperately seeking the coffee machine, Stilres knew this from experience and the curse of a caffeine addiction.

Today was Monday. Despite Stiles' best efforts to the contrary he'd been to bed late and now here he was lying in his new room awake well before the shrill shriek of his alarm. He sighed. There was little point to staying here on his bedspread cursing his general existence and counting the dots in the stucco of his ceiling. Mondays at new schools were like band-aids, best to face them head on, grit your teeth and rip them off immediately.

It barely took Stiles any time to throw some clothes together. He'd gone with his red plaid flannel shirt and his most broken in jeans because it looked overcast and this was one of his comfiest favorites and he might need that today. He scarfed down his breakfast and gulped his coffee without really registering the taste.

By the time Stiles was finished, the sun was just barely peeking through the barren trees. It was still so early and Stiles was a ball of twitchy, now extra caffeinated, nervous energy. Their house was not too far from the dry wintry woods that surrounded Beacon Hills and Stiles figured a quick jaunt through the wilderness might help him calm down a bit, so he could sit still in class. (Well, Stiles was actually quite incapable of sitting still in class or anywhere else for that matter, but he liked to try to keep the fidgeting to a minimum as much as possible),

So Stiles headed down the road to the dead end and then he continued into the tree line. The air was crisp and cool on his darkening cheeks. The vivid hues his skin took on in the lightest of chills was downright embarrassing. Thankfully, at this time in the morning there would be no one to notice.

Stiles was enjoying crunching his boots aimlessly in the dry leaves when he heard it. It was startling in the early quiet of the woods. There was a definite rustling in the bushes ahead of him and whatever it was it sounded a lot bigger than a rabbit. Stiles stopped and listened, but he just heard his own pants for breath, deafening in the silence. He looked around frantically, doe eyes growing rounder and rounder as he searched for the source of the sound. He rubbed his hands through the stubble on the back of his neck, he only did that when he was nervous. "Calm down, Stiles," he muttered to the leaves. "Get a grip on yourself, if there is something out there it's a deer about to have a heart attack at the sound of your stomping through its territory." But he didn't really believe himself.

* * *

Derek always liked to run in the mornings. He didn't have much to do, since he'd returned to Beacon Hills. Yeah, he had rather other things on his mind, things like figuring out who the hell murdered his most of his family in a fiery blaze all those years ago and who had then come back years later to "finish the job," by savagely murdering and mutilating his older sister, Laura. Someone had cut her in half and buried her to draw him back into town, presumably.

Derek was snapped back into the present by the feeling of wood splinters gouging into his nails. Evidently, thinking of his family's killers had caused him to dig his hands into the rough, blackened old dining room table he'd been sitting at. Yeah okay it was weird, but Derek lived in the charred remains of his family home. It didn't feel right to be anywhere else while he settled this score on their behalf. Also, there was that slight problem of being a prime-ish suspect in his sister and subsequently his family's deaths. He did have to admit that to an outside observer his status as nearly sole survivor of the Hale line in the wake of a wave of violent deaths was definitely suspicious. But at the same time, he was furious that the initial incident, the fire had not been investigated more closely and had been written up as a tragic, freak accident. Nine people had perished (a good portion of them children) and one person had been so severely burned that he'd ended up catatonic and only Derek and Laura because they'd been out at the time had walked away unscathed. Surely that sort of "accident" with that high body count warranted a more detailed investigation. Those damned stupid, lazy small town cops that just didn't want the harder work and greater paper work that came with actually investigating crimes in a thorough fashion.

Derek took several deep breaths in attempt to calm himself and the beast within. No he wasn't being figurative. Derek was now one of the very last werewolves in the Hale line. He did have an "inner beast" so to speak and sometimes it did try to take the reigns. Derek was not about to let it control him. He was all about discipline and control. It was a necessary skill to have if one wanted to avenge the senseless deaths of almost their entire family and Derek had certainly mastered it.

He liked to run in the mornings and get some of that primal energy out. It was good to go before there would be the added risk that people might be out and about in the woods. It was always best to go before the sun got very serious about being up and making it warmer.

Today, Derek couldn't shake an odd feeling. It was a shivery excitement that bubbled up in the pit of his stomach and raced along the ridges of his spine. It excited him and spurred him on. He had this feeling that something was coming, that today despite his rotten streak of luck was going to good, better than good even, maybe as good as excellent.

Derek had left the burned out husk of his family home in very little clothes to accommodate his preference to run around half-wolfed. He was just in worn jeans and his muscled torso had taken a slight sheen from running around. He'd barely gone twenty yards from his property when he caught the scent. It stopped him in his tracks.

It was like nothing Derek had smelled before and it smelled amazing. It was sharp and clean, sort of verdant and green, like sunshine on leaves. But underneath that there was a hint of something warm and a bit tart like a lemon that had been toasted for some reason. And it was so complex and intoxicating that Derek couldn't help starting to track it. The wolf was riding him hard now and driving him in the direction of the edge of the forest in the pursuit of that intriguing scent.

It was winding through his head and nostrils as he got closer to the source and Derek felt like he didn't really have time to slow down or get more stealthy with his movements. His fangs felt heavier in his mouth and his body felt taught as a hair trigger, quivering with excitement. He was surprised to find himself beginning to get aroused as well. The smell was some kind of natural pheremone maybe? But Derek didn't really give that much thought because that delightful warm, leafy, lemon-y something that was responsible for that delectable smell was oh-so close now.

Derek stopped abruptly in some tall bushes and tilted his head back gulping and scenting the air. It was just ahead of him on the path. He panted a little then and it took almost more control than he had to peer through the dead leaves at the source.

Damn it. That delightful odor was a boy. Derek wanted to hit something and dunk himself in the cold stream. It was just a stupid boy with soft features, whose skin was rather luminous in the early morning light. The skin that he could see was tantalizingly flecked with dark beauty marks in random constellations that Derek had a powerful urge to trace with his tongue. This was ridiculous. That was a teenager and a young-ish one by the looks of things. And Derek was nearly 21 and he shouldn't want to burst out of the underbrush and pin that boy to the ground and rub himself all over him just to bathe in that smell and see those golden eyes get even bigger. Now that he was closer, Derek could tell that the boy was nervous about something, it was there in irregular staccato of his heart beats, the fine sheen of sweat beading on his soft, plush-looking upper lip. Oh god. It occurred to Derek that clean note in the smell meant that this youth was untouched. And Derek had to bite back a growl. He absently shoved his hands in his jeans roughly adjusting his now throbbing cock.

Damn stupid, delectable looking virgin. That pale neck looked soft, like it would yield easily under his fangs. That kid had know right to stumble into his woods looking like that, smelling like that. It made the hair at the back of Derek's neck abruptly stand to attention.

Without even really thinking about Derek crashed out of his hiding place, his face set in a deep frown. The kid just stood there, stock still as he approached. Even as Derek pushed his way into his personal space, he didn't run or flinch. Just stood there blinking, gaping like a fish.

This time Derek did growl. Right out loud, right in that dumb face. The kid still didn't budge. Though he did seem to be putting more of an effort into saying something if those gasping squeaks were anything to go by.

"Get out!" Derek said through tightly clenched teeth. "This is private property. You're trespassing."

The kid's golden gaze met his and Derek thought he saw some defiance there. Some fire burning brightly in the black of those pupils. The red plaid shoulders were definitely squaring themselves and the kid was pushing back. Pushing his body into Derek's space.

"Didn't see any signs." The voice was dry and deadpan. It was only the smell that gave away the underlying fear. The missed heartbeats were also a clue.

Derek stepped forward. He almost choked, being that close to that smell, but tried to breathe more through his mouth. He made sure his face gave nothing away. "Get out," growled again. He was aware of the heat that reminded him their foreheads were scant inches from touching. He could also tell that the wolf was excited by the prospect of this frightened rabbit-y seeming person that wanted to challenge him. The wolf seemed to think it would be fun to make this young buck submit. Force this pup to roll over and show him that pale belly. It definitely liked the idea.

But Derek was using all his discipline to keep that beast in check. He just stared into those golden orbs, refusing to blink or back down. The kid did have very thick lashes for a boy. Derek dug his claws into his thigh a bit, the pain centering his control. The kid did blink and look away first.

Derek could hear the kid mumble something that sounded like "grumpy Adonis. Ruining my day..." as he turned tail and left. It made him chuckle a bit. Before he was struck by the gravity of this problem. It would be no good to know that there was delicious, sumptuous boy-treat running around in his woods this close to the full moon. This could be very dangerous for all involved.


	2. Chapter 2

What a morning! Stiles never would have guessed his day would begin with gruff, growly threats from some cologne model in the middle of the woods behind his house. Man, he had all the luck. He also kind of had a problem brewing in his shorts and this point and he really didn't have so much time to deal with it before he had to get his punk ass to school. Think about gross things Stiles. Think about pus-filled infected wounds, your old math teacher's S&M heavy dating profile, geriatric sexy times. It was tough, but eventually Stiles did get 'lil Stiles under control. The icy run-off that counted as a spring had helped as well when he'd splashed a bit down his pants.

Then Stiles was practically running, very awkwardly like a newborn fawn unsure of how to work its own legs back to his Jeep. He was rapidly running out of time to make it Beacon Hills High without the Damocles' sword of lateness and detention hanging over his newly razored scalp. Wouldn't that just be the best way to make an impression on a new principal, roll up hella late to his first day. Damn growly, handsome strangers that he wanted to climb like a tree distracting him on such an important day. And to hell with always having to contend with not pissing off a new school's administrator. One day, Stiles would like to stick somewhere long enough to develop a punch-clock arch nemesis sort of relationship with the vice principal. You know the kind of sitcom style mischievous hero and straight-laced rule enforcer that were so used to each other they were able to have an easy banter about it. Something like "That's funny Mr. Stilinski, I bet that you'd be able to keep out of my office until at least Wednesday." That type of dry sarcasm with his detention-dealer had little chance of happening though with the way his dad's career path was going.

When Stiles did finally roll up at the aforementioned high school, he had about five minutes to spare and it was relatively easy to slide into his home room without attracting the kind of attention that led to after school special extra curricular activities. All in all, as far as first days went it was kind of standard.

Stiles' inability to employ common sense or keep his big fat mouth shut did not endear him to either the teachers or the more popular jock/bully set. On the plus side, he did appear to make friends rather easily with the dopey-looking lacrosse player that sat behind him in home room, named Scott McCall. Seriously though, that kid was kind of simple. You wouldn't believe the kind of remarks that went over his tousled brown head in their various shared classes. More than once Stiles had been sure that dyed-in-the-wool douche-saurus rex, Jackson, was going to deck Scott right in his scrunched up eyebrows. On the other hand, maybe Jackson was only holding back because it would be like slapping a puppy in the face. Even raging douche-sauruses were reluctant to stoop that low, Stiles was sure.

Scott was pretty easy to talk to. Under his simpleton and semi-attractive (yes, in a completely platonic way, Stiles could tell he was easy on the eyes) exterior Scott was really just a giant nerd. They liked the same brain-mushifying video games and they got into a few semi-heated arguments regarding superheroes. Stiles could tell this would be a fast and easy friendship for the two of them. It was like this Scott kid was just waiting for a loud mouth spaz, like Stiles to come along and shake up his world with the awesome powers of friendship.

Stiles did admit though there was one subject he could foresee he'd always be trying to avoid with Scott for the better part of their future buddy-ship, Allison. Stiles didn't know what kind of drugs that Argent chick mixed into her perfume that seemed to target Scott specifically, but if the subject of her ever came up, it only took about five minutes for Stiles' eyes to start glazing over and him to start searching for a dramatic mode of suicide to get himself out of the conversation. For the love sweet skateboarding Jesus, the topic of the exact shade of her (pretty standard coloured, in Stiles' opinion) brown eyes should not be the starting point for an hours worth of meaningless contemplation. Shut up already Scott, grow an extra pair of balls and ask the broad out already will ya, for the sake of Stiles' sanity.

During the approximately three hours of enthusiastic devotion to all things Allison, Stiles couldn't help his mind (and other parts of his anatomy) from wandering back to the topic of Mr. Growly Bear that he had met while trespassing in the woods this morning. He had pretty much decided that he would be trespassing in that area as much as possible for the remainder of his stay in this Californian armpit of a town. He wanted to see that scruffy frown as much as possible thank you very much.

In fact, Stiles went to far as to interrupt Scott's animated discussion of Allison's choice in scented lipgloss to ask Scott about the incident. "So, Scott, my man, there's all these big ass woods around my place, is it true that they're some kind of private property or something?"

Scott took some long slow blinks. Stiles sort of worried about the state of his new pal's mind if a simple change in topic could unsettle him this much. Scott's brow did that furrow thing that seemed to indicate deep concentration on his part. "The woods aren't exactly off limits..." he said slowly and carefully as if unsure how to phrase his answer.

"But?" Stiles interjected flailing his arms in an indication that Scott should finish his damn thought.

"But, there's this um family. I mean there was this family that kind of, sort of, mostly owned a lot of them. They kind of all died, I guess. Err. I mean most of them died, it was this big tragedy when I was little. I know a couple of them made it out and one of them just plumb went nutso, so I'm not really sure how much the whole 'don't go in there' thing is enforced these days, but I'd stay out of it." He stopped and stared at Stiles, clearly the effort of stringing all those coherent sentences had got to him at least a little bit.

"Oh." Stiles really didn't know what to say to that. I mean, that all made it sound like that if he continued to frequent the forest he would be abusing some broken up orphans or tragic anti-heroes or something. That didn't mean he wasn't going back there though.

Scott seemed relieved that Stiles didn't have much to add to that and he seemed to view it as the perfect opportunity to return to his topic of choice, the angel formerly known as Allison. This time he was discussing the subtle nuances that could be gleaned from the shy introduction she'd given Scott and by extension the entire home room this morning.

This left Stiles back where he had been, tuning out his new bosom buddy in favour of contemplating his own vision of perfection, the one with angry eyes that loomed large clad in a bitchin' leather jacket. Mmmm. What would it be like to feel that dark stubble scrape across your neck, he wondered? What would that frowny face even look like if it relaxed into a smile? Maybe this was why Stiles was destined to be besties with Scott, they had similar problems with unattainable, obsessive crushes based on extremely limited interactions...


End file.
